


oh the habits of my heart

by irritable



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Post-Canon, Roommates, all about that self discovery, also aubrey posen: power best friend, basically life after pp2, others make appearances, they get famous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5528885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritable/pseuds/irritable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Listen, Beca's not gay.</p><p>She's, like, only mildly attracted to German blondes. </p><p>And, like, half-ish attracted to weirdo redheads with no knowledge on boundaries and how to respect them. </p><p>So, yeah. Beca's not gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh the habits of my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [love-at-its-darkest-hour](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=love-at-its-darkest-hour).



> for soren  
> done for the pitchmas gift exchange 2015  
> thank you, redlance, for organizing this!  
> merry christmas everyone :-)
> 
> important:  
> \- title from 'habits of my heart' by jaymes young  
> \- beca swears a lot  
> 

They breakup on a date. 

It's not bitter sweet and it's not in any way 'surprisingly pleasant.'

It's all harsh words and sharp jabs at the other's weak spots. 

The sunrise looks angry against the pale, ghastly clouds; it's dark maroons and saturated oranges mixing together like fire in the sky. 

The picnic basket is overturned and there's food scattered across the dirt. 

It's a horrible image and Beca feels like crying. 

Jesse  _is_  crying. Jesse is shouting. Jesse is stamping his foot. Jesse is kicking rocks. Jesse is  _crying_. 

Jesse feels.

Beca feels  _numb_. 

"You're always busy when I call, Beca!" he yells. 

"You're always calling," she hollers back, because what else is she supposed to do? 

They trade back and forths until their voices are rough and raw, like sandpaper. 

"We never spend time together anymore! It was always 'Bellas! Internship! Chloe!' When was the last time you came to see me on your own accord?" he hollers. 

She responds just as venomously. 

"I'm your  _boyfriend_ , Beca. We're not  _bros_  or whatever it is you think we are, we're  _dating!_ " he shouts. "We do stuff together, we don't brush each other off regularly."

Her replies are accusing and sharp. 

"I know your middle name, I know where you used to live, I know your favourite movie!"

"Everyone knows that, I dedicated a stupid fucking set around it!"

"Oh, it's stupid now?"

She answers with exasperated growls. 

"I know about you. Now, you tell me what my parents' names are."

She's quiet. 

It's suddenly quiet and it's worst than their cutting insults and glares. The silence tears through their bodies until they're just so tired. 

"Maybe we're over," he finally hisses. 

It's early and the day is just starting, but their ending is here. Their ending is now. 

Beca agrees angrily, like its a demand, "Maybe we are."

They clean up in deafening silence. Beca walks away and Jesse slams his car door. 

The day's just started, but she suddenly feels so, so tired. 

-

 **Chloe Beale:** I saw your Facebook relationship status. 

 **Chloe Beale:** Call me right now.

 **Chloe Beale:** Beca! Hanging up on people is rude, but that was a good talk!

 **Beca Mitchell:** Get me outta here. 

 **Chloe Beale:** Move in with me!!!!!

 **Chloe Beale:** We've already talked about this.

 **Chloe Beale:** Just say yes!!

 **Chloe Beale:**  I've got a spare room!

 **Chloe Beale:**  I can cook without burning down the building like you. 

 **Chloe Beale:** Also cuddling!

 **Beca Mitchell:** I get it. 

 **Chloe Beale:** Awes! I'll come by and get your stuff tomorrow! 

-

They wait till Jesse's at work to load Beca's stuff into the trunk and the back seat of Chloe's car. 

She leaves the photos behind, except the first one they ever took together. First year at Barden, radio station, silly selfie of Jesse pulling a face with  _The Black Keys'_  album and Beca rolling her eyes and shying away from the camera. It's cute. 

It's cute and Beca's nothing but bitter as she nonchalantly picks it up and pockets it in front of Chloe, who offers her a sad little smile and holds a hand out for her to take. 

Beca takes a deep breath. She glances around one last time. 

They, Jesse and Beca, built a good life. LA was doing pretty well for them, but she figures it's her fault. She's defected somehow and whatever she lets herself have crumbles to dust. 

Jesse's music sheets are scattered across their – his coffee table, his jacket's strewn across the floor, and his cups and mugs are lined across the kitchen. 

She realizes she's never really been part of this life. 

It shocks her to the bone. 

There's holes. Holes where her paperwork was mixed with his. Holes where her ratty socks and old hoodies were dumped alongside his. But the kitchen, it's the same without her mugs (the whole two of 'em), and the bathrooms only lack a toothbrush and maybe a bottle of shampoo, and their bedroom only lacks her clutter. And she's bitter. 

Sure, there's holes where she used to occupy, but they're small. Like an insignificant rip in a t-shirt, something anyone could stitch up and it'd be good as new. 

But then Chloe hums. 

Beca turns with a raised eyebrow, because no, she's not going to. 

Chloe hums louder, she wiggles her fingers, and Beca allows a small smile to curve her lips. 

She takes Chloe's hand and they stand side-by-side as they hum  _Don't You Forget About Me_. 

When Beca's slumped in the passenger seat of Chloe's car, she promises herself she'll do better. She'll do better with Chloe and the other Bellas. 

And maybe when the time's right, she'll do better with Jesse. 

Chloe squeals beside her and turns the radio higher, and Beca smirks as  _Party In The U.S.A._  blasts through the speakers. 

She's going to do fucking better, she's won't let her friendship with Chloe and the other Bellas die. 

If she has to, she'll kick life in its metaphorical balls, because she wants to do better and she will. 

-

**Beca Mitchell**

_Fuck my life. **Chloe Beale**  is a bathroom hogger. _

298 likes | 62 comments

**_Fat Amy_ **

_gettin' domestic up in here_

**_Aubrey Posen_ **

_A good hot bath can help blood circulation, lowers your blood pressure, helps you stay in shape, reduces headaches, and much more. Don't rush her – unless she's been in the shower for more than 15 minutes._

**_Jesse Swanson_ **

_:)_

-

She  _should_  be at work, really. But whatever. She woke up late, it's not like it's going to make a difference, besides, she hasn't had a sick day off since the last week of Barden when she'd been too busy trying to figure out how she should fold her clothes, so that everything could fit. 

That was a painful experience. 

In the end, she had to FaceTime Aubrey for help, and that in itself was also a painful experience. Also very dragged out. 

And afterwards she vowed never to FaceTime Aubrey again. 

(Which she did again when Chloe asked her to help her out with packing. After that, she vowed never to do any packing of any sort. Which also fails, because of the Jesse thing, but at least Aubrey wasn't on FaceTime. 

Actually, she frowns, if she did call Aubrey, the blonde would have been overjoyed. Apparently you never grow out of your respective collegiate a capella experiences. No treble boning allowed. Hm.)

Anyway. She should be at work. But she's not. So. 

There's a knock on the door and she could have sworn Chloe was at work. 

She grunts, lifts her head up off the arm of the sofa, and hopes that if she doesn't answer, the stranger'll go away.

More knocking.

Grumbling, she trudges to the door and pulls it open with a scowl. " _What_?"

Oh. It's Jesse. 

Jesse who's staring at her with wide eyes and a sort of panicked look on his face. 

This'll be great. 

"Beca. Hi."

"Yeah," she says. "I mean, hi. Yeah, hi."

He chuckles, which only makes it more awkward. "Um. Oh! Here. I was just going to give it to Chloe to give it to you."

"She's at work," Beca mumbles as she blinks at the bag in Jesse's hand. 

"Right, yeah, she's teaching, right?" 

Beca doesn't take the bag. "Yeah. Kindergarten."

Jesse nods like he actually cares, like he can't actually just look this up on Facebook, and gives the bag a shake. "Well, uh, here's some of your stuff you left at our – my place." 

He grimaces at his slip up and looks about ready to bolt. Beca clears her throat and tries to hide her wince, but it's obvious and visible as all of fucking hell. 

"Right."

The bag feels heavy in her hand and she wonders how much shit she actually left there, because she thought she was pretty thorough. Apparently not. 

Jesse inhales deeply before exhaling and setting his lips into a thin, pursed lips awkward-smile-thing. "Yeah. Okay. It was great to see you, Beca," he says, and it actually sounds genuine. "I'm going to have to go now, because I actually jogged here on my lunch break, so..."

"Dude, yeah," she says like she gets it, even though they both know she's never set foot outside of her work place during lunch breaks. (She thinks there's no point, she's going to have to go back anyway.) "We should, like, schedule something or whatever."

"Oh, wow, yeah," he sounds surprised, which is actually a reasonable reaction. Beca quirks an eyebrow. "Definitely."

Then, Beca mutters a goodbye and they exchange some final pleasantries before he's jogging back to the stairs and the doors slamming closed.

After half an hour of deep thinking and pacing, she opens the bag and finds every single photo they've taken inside, some are photocopies, and some are the originals. 

Another half hour later, she deletes her draft text for an invite out for lunch to Jesse and they don't speak again soon.

She's a coward. Whatever. 

-

 **_To:_ ** _[beca.mitchell@residualheat.com](mailto:beca.mitchell@residualheat.com)_

 **_Cc/Bcc, From:_ ** _[mitchell.lit@barden.edu](mailto:mitchell.lit@barden.edu) _

**_Subject:_ ** _Christmas Dinner?_

Click to open

 **_To:_ ** _[mitchell.lit@barden.edu](mailto:mitchell.lit@barden.edu) _

**_Cc/Bcc, From:_ ** _[beca.mitchell@residualheat.com](mailto:beca.mitchell@residualheat.com) _

 **_Subject:_ ** _No._

[Empty email]

-

"Beca?" Chloe calls, a moment later, her head pokes around Beca's door frame and she peers at a disgruntled Beca with a beam. "Oh! There you are!"

Beca pushes a mess of hair out of her face and attempts to smooth down her hopelessly crinkled shirt. "Yeah," she replies, all throaty from sleep and gross with morning breath. Afternoon breath. Whatever. "Here I am."

Chloe giggles before sauntering into Beca's room, because Chloe Beale never walks, she saunters, and strides, and skips, and bounces. She wiggles between the sheets of Beca's bed without invitation and her teeth are flashing in a big ass grin again. "Guess what."

Beca clears her throat and shuffles closer to the edge to allow Chloe more space (which she just uses to burrow closer to Beca). "You finally found out what boundaries are?"

Chloe snorts. 

"Right. Didn't think so." 

"You love me."

"Whatever."

Chloe slings an arm around Beca's waist like it was made to be there and asks again, "Guess  _what_ , Beca." 

"You've looked in the mirror and realized that there  _is_  a monster living in our apartment?" Beca dodges a slap, but the moment she sways back into the Chloe-orbit, she gets a punch in the arm. "You're abusive?"

"Beca, shut up please," Chloe huffs with a roll of her (beautiful, bright, blue) eyes and pinches Beca's cheek despite the smaller girl's protests. "I got a job!" 

Beca blinks. "Wait, I thought you already had one." 

"Yeah, being a kindergarten teacher was fun, but I'm singing stuff! I'm working with this awesome music producer." 

"Wait, what? Chlo, that's great!" And yeah, it is, but also not really, because Beca's a producer and,  _hi_ , why isn't Chloe working with  _her_? 

Chloe nods like an excited puppy and sort of does this wiggly thing in her spot, nudging against Beca's side and, yeah, no. She hasn't found out what personal space is. "Actually, you might know her."

Beca raises her eyebrows, a better option than scowling at Chloe. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Chloe says. "She's, like, really cool. And also super short."

 _Oh_. Yeah. She heard something about a new talent coming in. Maybe. She  _thinks_  she's heard about that. "Dude _._ "

Chloe giggles. 

" _Dude_." She's definitely awake now, because how cool is that? Getting to see your best friend everyday and have a blast with high tech equipment and getting  _paid_ for it. "Dude,  _Chloe_."

"Dude, Chloe," she mocks. "Yeah, Becs, I know. We're totes going to have so much fun!"

" _Dude_.  _Chloe_."

-

Six live tweets later, the first track is completed. 

Seven months later, the album is finished. 

Nine months later, Chloe Beale's Instagram account follower number dips into the seven digit pool. 

-

They're actually hours late to find out the song's crawling up Billboard's top 100. Like, hours. 

They're still living the rough life (McDonald's at least four times a week and creepy neighbours) when Chloe's voice filters through the TV sound system. 

It's late afternoon and Beca's just dragged her ass back from work only to find Chloe prancing over their furniture with the widest face splitting grin she's ever seen. "Beca!" she exclaims.

"Chl–" Beca starts, but she's yanked into the middle of the cramped and messy living room. She winces when some of the Coke in her can spills onto her skin. Ugh. " _C'mon_ , man."

" _Beca_!" Chloe yells again. "Nine _teen_   _million_  views!" 

Nineteen –  _What_?

Beca drops the can. Her arms wrap around Chloe's waist and Chloe snakes hers around Beca's neck. 

"Oh my god. No way. Oh my fucking god," she says it like it's one word and her face hurts from smiling. 

They're still hours late, so when she finally charges her phone and it blinks on, she finds the number 583 besides the Bellas' group chat and 72 missed calls. 

And it's fucking great and surreal. And it's so much. And it's basically unreal.

-

So, being famous sucks.

-

She has to go to public events and actually has to use Facebook, even though three quarters of her posts are deleted by the PR team (she has a PR team), which sucks, because why can't she post passive aggressive comments about stupid people. (Okay, she'll admit they're mostly just aggressive.)

Freedom of speech, America. 

But it's also sort of a good thing that everything she says is edited, because Aubrey Posen is a bitch, sure, but she doesn't deserve harassment from Beca's fans (she has  _fans_ ).

She does get total control of her Twitter and Instagram though. Mostly because she promises not to mention names when she's bitching and to consult the PR team ( _PR team_!) before posting anything she thinks might cause some sort of scandal or whatever.

And apparently, it's suggested that she put proper clothes on when she goes outdoors to avoid looking like a hapless hobo in paparazzi photos. 

She can't help it if her resting bitch face is that bitter, okay? 

Plus, it's hard to look good when you're standing next to one Chloe Beale; her wardrobe is something Beca's can only dream to be, and the fucking woman's normal expressions range from 'I just saw a puppy and I'm smiling so hard' to 'I just saw two puppies playing with four kittens and six children who sold brownies to me, so my face is threatening to explode with how bright I'm beaming.' 

Living the rough life, Beca is. 

Alright, so being famous isn't that bad. Nothing is perfect. 

It's okay. Especially when she falls through the door to her penthouse (she has a fucking  _penthouse_ ) to find Chloe with a messy bun falling apart upon its perch on her head laughing at whatever season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S she's rewatching and beckoning Beca over before she's even slipped off her boots to join her like she's a little kid on Christmas. 

(They have a flatscreen, by the way. A flatscreen. Being famous is not that fucking bad.) 

-

 **_Beca Mitchell  
_ ** _@BecaBitchell_

Apparently I'm not allowed to dedicate a tweet to talking about how  _@AcaChloeBeale_  likes to annoy the fuck outta me by forcing me to cuddle with her, because people will either think we're gay for each other or hate each other. 

 

 **_Chloe Beale  
_ ** _@AcaChloeBeale_

You love cuddling, Mitchell. Don't pretend that you're not loving being the little spoon right now.  _#DJLittleSpoon_   _@BecaBitchell_

 

 **_Beca Mitchell  
_ ** _@BecaBitchell_

1) How come you're allowed to post whatever you want on your Twitter? 2) Fuck off.  _@AcaChloeBeale_

-

They get their first box of fan mail a week later. 

Beca hauls the box home from work to drop it at Chloe's feet. 

She slumps into her seat and mumbles her appreciation for the cooked dinner that smells so good, she's pretty sure if her nose could have an orgasm, it'd be happening now. 

Which is gross. She doesn't want that shit in her food. 

Chloe squeals and they end up sifting through the box as they eat. 

" _Becs_ , someone drew us and it's amazing," Chloe gushes over the fan mail and there's a sketch thrusted in her face. "Look, it's so cute!"

Beca squints. Then, she nudges Chloe's hands back to get a better look, and wow, okay. Why is she the famous one when this dude could be selling their shit for millions of bucks to museums and pretentious old billionaires?

 _Snap_!

She blinks. 

Presumably, her appreciation face is pretty damn hilarious, because Chloe snaps a photo and spends half an hour giggling at it instead of finishing the spaghetti – which she cooked herself, by the fucking way. 

It takes another hour and a half to finish shovelling through the box and finish their dinner. 

An hour later, Chloe's Instagram account is spammed with images of fan mail and one photo of Beca's face with the caption of: 'She approves.  _@becamitchellofficial_ ' 

Rude. 

Beca scowls when she sees it and ignores Chloe for a total of five minutes before she's convinced to get her ass over here to get her daily dose of cuddling. 

Listen, Beca's not  _gay_. 

She's, like, only mildly attracted to German blondes. 

And, like, half-ish attracted to weirdo redheads with no knowledge on boundaries and how to respect them. 

So, yeah. Beca's not gay. 

However, she's only human and if Chloe Beale asked you to come over and cuddle, you don't say no. 

Beca wakes up an hour after midnight with drool crust on her face and Chloe snoring lightly into her neck. 

Ew. She grimaces as she rubs at her face. 

She gently pulls away from Chloe, getting up and turning off their TV before returning with blankets. 

She drapes the blanket over Chloe's body and readjusts the pillows so Chloe's neck doesn't kill her in the morning. 

(Her foot catches the foot of the sofa once and she spends a good five minutes hopping around and hissing every curse under the goddamn sun under her breath.)

She snaps a photo of Chloe snoring in hopes of getting a silly photo, but she's Chloe, ray of sunshine personified, the photo is actually adorable and Beca rolls her eyes. 

'She snores.' is the caption she puts when she posts it on her account. 

Though, before she can trod back to her own room, Chloe whines and huffs out a, "Get back here, Mitchell." 

And, with a brief moment of thought and a roll of her eyes, she (semi)reluctantly slips into Chloe's hold again. 

Chloe's lips curve against her rose tattoo on her right shoulder. 

-

 **@imtherealbeale**  Beca, I didn't know you were obsessed with me. 

 **@becamitchellofficial**  You have at least five pictures of me sleeping posted on your account. @imtherealbeale

 **@imtherealbeale**  I'm obsessed with you too! 

 **@playboyamy**  late night fun with #bloe ;-)

-

Whatever this event is for, it's clearly not worth it. The finger foods are just compact McDonald's burgers: 60% grease, 30% fat, 10% unknown and probably illegal substances. 

Beca grumbles too herself as she taps out a beat on her champagne glass. 

Chloe's somewhere else in the room, probably socializing with other celebrities and millionaires. She's good at that. 

Her mom (biological, not the stepmonster) always told her to do what she was good at, so she sits at the back of the room and glares at anyone who comes within a four foot radius of her. 

She's, like, black belt in scowling. 

And then – " _Becaw_!" comes a screech. Oh, fuck. Her shoulders sink and her frown deepens. "Hi, stranger!"

She makes a face at Jesse, he returns it with his own silly face, before she greets him begrudgingly. "My mom told me not to talk to strangers and to eat my apples."

"Well, where's the apples?" Jesse grins boyishly. 

He looks good, certainly dressed up a bit, and he's seated next to her. 

Movie scoring certainly got him places, she muses as she runs her eyes over the lapels of his expensive suit and the shiny pair of shoes on his feet. 

His eyes are still warm and like a puppy's, imploring and kind. He hasn't changed all that much. 

He does need a haircut, though. It's gotten the smallest bit floppy at the top, which he's gelled, so it doesn't look like he's a hippy and he does look a bit paler. 

"How's life?" he asks after a short silence. 

Beca smiles. "What? Haven't been following all my social media accounts?"

"No, sorry. I'm only allowed to follow the cool celebrities," Jesse teases. 

And excuse me. "We both know you're obsessed with me."

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "You must have me confused with Chloe."

"The fuck? Wow. You're reading all my comments too?" Beca smirks. "Didn't take you for a fan boy."

"Obviously, you didn't really get to know me during college," he says, it's meant as a joke, but Beca swallows the lump in her throat and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "I mean, uh, like..."

"It's cool, Jess." She looks down at her hands where they're tangled in her lap. "I didn't and I'm, like, super sorry."

She can feel Jesse's eyes burning holes into her head, but she stays frowning at her fiddling fingers. 

"Bec!" Chloe calls from somewhere. 

When she glances up, she sees Jesse's mouth closing, like he was going to say something, but didn't. He smiles softly at her before tilting his head in Chloe's direction. 

Beca smiles back and when she heads away from him, she thinks she hears, "I'm, like, super sorry too," but she ignores it. 

There's times and places for this, for post-breakup rekindling. A crappy event is not one of those times and much less a place for it. 

When Chloe loops their arms together, she sinks into her touch, and when Chloe whispers a hushed, "Are you alright?"

Beca nods and smiles and makes small talk with strangers. 

She falls asleep in the limo back home. Chloe wakes her gently and helps her trudge to their door. 

It's past 11:00 pm when she nuzzles into Chloe's neck.

She falls back to sleep and tries not to think about dudes who look like puppies or how she always ends up sharing a bed with a girl who smells like sunshine. 

-

She fails. 

-

New Years creeps up on her. 

It's cold all of a sudden, as if the year goes from Summer, skips over Autumn, and slaps Winter in her face in the form of harsh, howling wind and flecks of snow doing some expert manoeuvring to end up past the collar of shirts and onto sensitive skin. 

Which is both annoying and painful. Sort of like Aubrey Posen. 

The Aubrey Posen that's graced them with her pleasant presence. Well, at least she makes a mean cup of hot chocolate. 

And that's the main reason why Beca agrees to let the blonde bunk in the penthouse's guest room. 

(It's not because Chloe pouted at her from across the room on a cold Wednesday night and refused to acknowledge Beca properly when she said no the first time. 

It's not because when Beca said yes, Chloe brightened like the goddamn summer sun and they had an intense cuddle session while having a mini impromptu riff off) 

(Which Chloe won by cheating. Tickling is absolutely  _not_  allowed.)

She almost regrets her choice. 

Aubrey takes up the comfortable air that surrounds the 'Beca and Chloe' space. 

Aubrey puts the heater too high and Aubrey spends long stretches of time huffing about the other Bellas' Christmas plans. 

(She's very cautious about Cynthia Rose's choice to spend her holiday in Las Vegas and is extra sceptical when Stacie promises she's only going to bang at most three different people.) 

Aubrey enforces a fucking lights out rule. They're not in a retreat, why is she torturing Beca? 

Chloe giggles beside her and elbows her in the side. "Stop sighing so much, drama queen."

"This is your fault. I hate you."

Chloe's exasperation melted into a smirk. "Remember that time you were caught by a bear trap and said–"

"Finish that sentence and I'll tell Aubrey you were the one who sent Emily the vomit video!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me," Beca replies haughtily. 

However, before Chloe can come up with a retort, Aubrey's ear splitting shriek slices through the air. 

Goddammit, Beca was hoping she'd never have to hear that again. She still has nightmares of cardio. She winces. Bad times, man. 

Aubrey stomps into the living room with her trademark scowl adorned on her face. 

"There are  _cockroaches_ ,  _Beca_!" she seethes, coming out as a high pitched hiss (Beca didn't think her belt stretched that far, but okay) that made it sound like it was Beca's fault that there was bugs in her penthouse. " _Cockroaches_."

Beca scoffs. "Chill, dude."

Chloe winces. 

-

 **_Beca Mitchell  
_ ** _@BecaBitchell_

I love having my room taken over by @ _AcaChloeBeale_ 's slightly psychotic, controlling best friend. 

 **_Chloe Beale  
_ ** _@AcaChloeBeale_

I sense an oncoming _#cuddlefest_  coming!

-

"Beca."

Nudge. 

"Psst. Hey, Beca."

Nudge. Nudge, nudge, nudge. 

"Beca, are you awake?"

Nudge. Nudge – "I fucking am now."

"Oops."

Yeah, as if Chloe Beale's guilty. She wasn't even embarrassed about the shower thing. 

"...What do you want, Chlo?" Beca asks, sleep husking her voice. 

Chloe shifts behind Beca, brushing against her back and her breath fanning against her neck. "Remember that experimenting thing I said in the retreat before the Worlds?"

"Good night, Chloe."

"No, Beca!" Chloe jabs her fingers into Beca's stomach and giggles into Beca's shoulder as she squirms. "I just wanted to tell you I'm bi!" 

"That's great," comes the dismissive reply. 

Chloe huffs into Beca's skin before falling into silence. 

"Wait – What?"

Beca shoves the blankets away and twists over to face Chloe, who quirks an eyebrow and plays with a small smile at a sleep ridden, bewildered Beca. 

"I'm bisexual." Chloe states. 

She blinks before pushing herself into a sitting position and drops her head to glance at Chloe over her shoulder. "I heard. But. Dude."

Chloe fell onto her back and smirked lazily at Beca. "Oh, yeah, Cynthia Rose apparently invites the entire Barden gay-straight alliance to weddings. The girls were really fun."

Cynthia Rose's wedding was at least a  _year_  ago. Beca can't help the pang of hurt that passes through her chest, because they live together and thanks for sharing,  _Chloe_. 

Aren't friends supposed to tell each other stuff? (Let's ignore that thing with the internship. Bad times, bro.) " _Chloe_. What the actual fuck?"

With that, Chloe's mild amusement shifted into concern. She sat up and gently wrapped an arm around Beca's lower back. 

(Beca doesn't think about how Chloe doesn't need arms to push herself up, because she's ripped and her abs are great. She only knows from the shower thing. Totally.) 

"I didn't think you'd make such a big deal out of this," Chloe murmurs into Beca's ear. 

"No, dude," Beca says, "it's not that."

It's really not.

It's the thing where Beca  _does_  think about how great Chloe's body is, how she thinks about Chloe's smile, about how Chloe cares for everything, and Chloe being happy. 

And Beca's not fucking gay. 

"Then tell me what it's about," Chloe urges. She rests her head on Beca's shoulder, her hair falling in red tresses against pale skin. 

"It's..." For a fleeting moment, Beca thinks about spilling her guts, spewing every little secret she's ever kept from Chloe, but she barely understands what she wants to say. Barely understands herself. So, instead, she says, "It's nothing."

Instead, she says, "Just shocked."

Instead, she says what Chloe wants to hear, "Don't worry, I won't start buying Donald Trump posters. You know that I'll still do your laundry, right?"

Which translates to 'I love you' in Beca. The platonic one. The one she pulls out on Chloe when her face is going as red as her hair and when Chloe's made her a cup of hot chocolate that melts her mouth and her insides, because its secret ingredient is Chloe Beale's love. 

(It's sort of overwhelming sometimes, like being in the ocean and being slammed with an ice cold wave right in the face. But this is warm, and after a while, it isn't bad, you get used to it, and you have fun in the ocean; splash and soak in it.)

Chloe smiles, tightens her grip on Beca's waist, and pulls her down again. 

"I'll make sure you don't starve," Chloe says with a lilt on her lips that's pressed to the curve of Beca's neck. "I love you."

Chloe doesn't need a code to say it. Chloe  _speaks_   _fluent love_. 

-

 **Beca Mitchell:**  Do we need more milk?

 **Chloe Beale:**  I'll check! Wait a sec!

 **Chloe Beale:** OMG, that was awes! 

 **Chloe Beale:** Could we write a song with that rhyme?! 

 **Beca Mitchell:** No. 

 **Beca Mitchell:** Milk or not, Chloe?

 **Chloe Beale:** Oh, right!

 **Chloe Beale:** Yeah, we do. Buy two cartons. Thanks, Bec! <3 

-

It's like the fucking planets aligning. 

Beca Mitchell: Major League Awkward-er, and Emily Junk: Awkward Protégée, thrown together in a broken elevator for who knows how long.  

Ah, good times. 

After the initial panic and fear passed, they settled into a relatively (un)comfortable silence. 

It's amazing how much you get to reflect on every decision you've ever made when you're sitting cross legged in a stuck elevator. 

Bailing on her dad, meeting two sorority chicks trying to recruit her into a cult, being ambushed in a shower, being recruited  _into_  the cult, becoming the leader of the a capella cult, getting an a capella boyfriend, and an almost-a capella-girlfriend. It's all lead to this moment. 

It also tells her she sucks shit at decision making. 

Emily Junk smiles and nods at her from across the elevator floor (like, three feet away, really, it's not that far).

It's awkward, okay? 

"So..." 

Beca gives her a tight lipped smile in return. "Yeah. Uh. How's Benji?" 

Emily's shoulders seem to relax at the idea of having an actual conversation to clean up the traces of awkwardness still hanging in the air. "He's so great! He actually took me out on this really sweet date for our two year anniversary, sunrise and all."

Before Beca can offer half assed pleasantries, Emily rushes to speak again, "Oh! I'm so sorry! Sunrises might be a really sad thing for you, oh my gosh! How can I be so insensitive? God, Beca, I'm sorry."

Beca raises her eyebrows. Um. "What?"

"The breakup," Emily whispers," with Jesse."

Yeah, Emily, whispering doesn't make it any less tragic or whatever. 

"Oh. Right. That." 

Emily gives her a strange look. 

And the silence is back. It's definitely uncomfortable. 

Beca wades through the time glancing over at Emily and then back at the floor. 

She looks good, still tall as all hell, but good. Healthy. 

 _Flashlight_  had generated some money with its original release, but it hadn't ever made it over four million views on YouTube – which was actually fucking  _amazing_  for Beca at the time. Words cannot describe how she felt when it hit the three million mark. I mean, that was her first original and she worked her ass off for it. 

She was actually so proud of it, she event sent it to  _Sheila_. 

In fact, when Chloe's album garnered the attention of the mainstream audience and subsequently brought in more attention to  _Flashlight_ , she awarded herself with an entire chocolate cake from that bakery near her and Chloe's old apartment. 

(The entire cake. For herself. She regrets it so much. She had to get back on Aubrey's cardio plan to burn the extra weight off. It was  _horrible_. Never again.)

She reckons Emily deserves the extra money from  _Flashlight_ , after all Beca's only got her job due to the song. 

"So, uh, how are the Bellas?" Beca asks after clearing her throat. 

Emily beams. "Oh, they're so great! Chloe gave us some choreography help, so we're currently working on that – almost there, actually. Our set is okay, I'm working on this song that I wrote – it's not that good, and, well, I might scrap it, because–"

"Emily. Emily, it'll be great. Look how  _Flashlight_  turned out, dude, you've got this," Beca says. "I can help you guys out with the music. No big. You'll make us all proud, Chloe actually cried when she saw that video you sent the group chat. You guys'll rock people's socks off. That's lame. You'll rock. Yes. Okay."

Emily laughs and she's doing that puppy eyes thing, like Beca's a gift to the world. "Thanks, cap'n!"

"You're the captain, Em," Beca reminds. 

"You and Chloe will always be the captains," Emily says earnestly, and honestly, it's doing sinful things to Beca's ego. "Always."

Beca snorts. "Sure, Legacy."

Conversation killer right there. 

But Emily's nothing if not determined, so she charges on. "So how's Chloe?"

"You're in the group chat with us, Em," Beca points out dryly.

Emily rolls her eyes and nudges Beca with her foot. "Just tell me, Beca."

Beca sighs like it's a chore, but let's be real, she could talk about Chloe for hours – the girl gets up to a lot of stupid shit. "She's doing great. Still sends me videos of puppies playing with stuff during work hours, but whatever." 

She doesn't mention that she sits in the bathroom and watches every single video on the toilet seat to make sure no one catches her watching videos during work hours – she has her own office, sure, but her boss caught her once and that was enough embarrassment to last her a lifetime.

(Thinking about it, she's got five lifetimes worth of embarrassment. Thanks, Amy's vagina.)

"Um, she wants to get a pet actually. And also she's thinking about chopping her hair down to shoulder length," Beca lists. "She's listening to  _Celeste_  by Ezra Vine a lot. She's thinking about another album with me, which might happen. Maybe. Uh. Yeah, wanna help out with that or...?"

Emily claps her hands like an excited toddler and practically impairs Beca's hearing with a screech of, " _Yes_! Heck yeah! Duh!"

"Okay. Great. Um."

"So, are you two dating then?" Emily asks with a gleeful smile. 

And, okay. " _No_." Beca frowns. "I'm – no. I'm not even gay, Emily."

Emily opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it, and then closes it. Like a fish. A stuttering string of incoherent sounds comes up. 

"Sorry. I'm sorry. Again. I'm so sorry," Emily finally spews out, pushing the words so close together it was only just understandable. "It's just that the German woman from the Worlds made me think that you were, you know, gay or bi. Or pan. Or, um, you know. I'm sorry."

"Uh, yeah. Okay. It's whatever. It's chill." 

Then, they jolt and Beca's head knocks against the wall ("Fucking fuckety  _ow_! Asshole elevator!"). They descend to the first floor. 

Emily practically falls out of it and into Benji's frantic arms. 

Beca's gripped and yanked out the elevator by a pair of strong hands and into a familiar hold. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I am," she murmurs into a warm neck. "Thanks, Chlo."

"No problemo. This doesn't mean you'll stop doing laundry."

"Of _course_."

"There's paparazzi, by the way."

Ugh. "Well. That's fucking fantastic."

Chloe giggles. 

When they pull apart, Beca catches a doubtful look on Emily's face. She flips her the bird. 

Beca Mitchell's heterosexuality should never be doubted. 

-

**Producer Beca Mitchell Stuck in Elevator, Greeted by Girlfriend, Chloe Beale**

_February, 2017_

-

"Are you  _kidding_  me?" 

"Nope."

"Are you  _fucking kidding_  me?"

"No, Beca."

"Dude, my PR team's going to be losing their shit." Beca gapes at the magazine heading. 

Chloe giggles and doesn't waste a beat before snapping a photo of Beca's face. "Oh. We're getting spam in the Bellas chat, by the way. Also Aubrey is probably sending you threatening messages. Stacie says so."

Beca lets out a defeated groan, twisting around on Chloe's lap, so she's facing Chloe's pelvis. "I'm losing my shit."

A hand runs through Beca's hair and Chloe hums a familiar tune. 

"Seriously?"

Chloe grins and continues humming the chorus of it anyways. 

Fucking David Guetta. 

She puffs an exhale out of her lungs before belting the lyrics out into the hem of Chloe's shirt. 

She's interrupted by her phone ringing from the other side of the room. 

It's the Darth Vader tune that she stole from Jesse's laptop back when they just met – the PR team is calling. 

Chloe sniggers as Beca sits up and scrambles for her phone. Rude. 

She gives Chloe a dubious look, her finger hovering over the green phone, Chloe grins encouragingly an presses a kiss to Beca's cheek. 

Alrighty. Okay. 

She picks up and it's, like, two hours and a half before she finally hangs up. 

(But she is satisfied when Chloe's phone is bombarded with angry PR emails.)

-

 **Dad:** Beca, why don't you invite Chloe over for some ol' Mitchell style Friday dinner?

 **Beca Mitchell:** We're not actually dating. 

 **Beca Mitchell:** And no. We haven't had that since you left. 

 **Dad:** Come on, Beca...

 **Beca Mitchell:** No, I'm not being bitter, it'll just be super awkward. 

-

Post-breakup rekindling apparently takes place after the ex confronts you about a rumoured current significant other. 

It happens outside a public bathroom in a cinema where Beca's buying popcorn for the rumoured current significant other. Really sets a mood, doesn't it? 

The smell of piss and popcorn waft together. 

"So, Chloe?" Jesse starts. "Didn't see that coming."

"Really?" Beca scrunches up her face. "That's how you're going to start the conversation?"

Jesse snorts. "How are you, Beca? It's not like I can check your social media and Wikipedia for your information." 

"Shut up." Beca kicks his shin, because all her arms are full and she can't exactly nudge him without spilling popcorn. "Anyway, you didn't see it coming, because it never happened."

His eyebrows jerk up comically and his arms flail in an exaggerated way. "You mean I  _can't_  trust everything the media says?" 

This is why Beca managed four years with this lame dick. He was easy. On the eyes. To be with. He was easy, he was funny, and kind, and loving. But he was also too caught up in his dream. 

Beca's not a movie character. She's not going to be a girl who magically changes her entire self because some old white dude wrote it down for a young white dude to bed and wed.

Beca chuckles. "Yeah," she says, stopping to move aside as a woman shoves open the doors to the female toilet. "It was great to see you, but I got a movie to catch with Chloe, so..."

"So, we'll set up a meeting soon, yeah?" Jesse smiles, though there's that doubt she sees whenever she looks Emily in the face. (Beca's  _not_  gay.) "This time you'll actually text?"

She rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone. "Yeah, sure. Look, I'll put in a Google alert just for you."

"Cool!" 

Jesse was always easy. 

Cross her fingers, it'll be just as easy as friends. 

-

 **_Chloe Beale  
_ ** _@AcaChloeBeale_

Sorry, kiddos! It's totes coolio for you guys to ship _#BeChloe_  but we're NOT dating.

She's (sadly) heterosexual.  _#Pining #JustKidding #BecaIsTooShort_

 **_Beca Mitchell  
_ ** _@BecaBitchell_

 _@AcaChloeBeale_  You're four centimetres taller than me, asshole. Also, I knew you were obsessed with me. 

 **_Chloe Beale  
_ ** _@AcaChloeBeale_

I'd make a pun about my sexuality and my last name, but then it'd be Bile. 

 **_Chloe Beale  
_ ** _@AcaChloeBeale_

Oh! I forgot to tell you guys that I'm bisexual! Haha, oops. #lol

-

"You came out in a  _tweet_  with a  _pun_?!" 

Chloe nods without looking up from her phone. "Yeah! I've got so many retweets!"

"This is _bullshit_." Beca shakes her head and pokes her big toe into Chloe's stomach. (Which doesn't really do much with her toned stomach. Goddamn, she should have done more Aubrey cardio if it gives her a banging body.) "The PR team will  _not_  let this go."

Chloe finally glances up and pockets the phone with a self-satisfied smirk. "Oh, I already talked to Katie – she's new and she's  _so_  nice – and she says that the way I came out really adds to my cutesy image I've got goin' on, so..."

"I hate you."

"And yet you still do my laundry."

Beca digs her heels into Chloe's thighs. "No,  _I really hate you_."

With a wry smile and a smooth movement, Beca's legs fall on the sofa and Chloe's straddling her waist.

Red frames her vision and she's inches away from Chloe's blue eyes. 

"You don't hate me," Chloe insists. "I make a mean pancake and I'm the best."

"Yeah, dude, totally." Beca somehow manages to choke out. Chloe's minty breath warms her cheeks until she's sure they're redder than Chloe's hair. "Like, your modesty just makes me want to bone you right here and now."

Chloe grins. "I gotta go edit that tweet where I said you were straight, then."

"I'm blaming you when PR makes my phone combust," Beca states bluntly.

"They love me."

Chloe shifts her arms where they are neatly nestled on either side of Beca's head and their faces lulls closer to each other. 

"Which makes me hate you."

"And we're back here. No. You don't." 

Definitely not.

Beca swallows the lump in her throat and she feels like she's going to explode with how rigid her muscles are. "I don't. Because your hot... Uh, your hot..."

"I'm hot?" Chloe's eyebrow slides up. 

"Your hot chocolate," Beca finishes. "Because your hot chocolate." 

Chloe's smile slips off and she twitches. "No," she murmurs. "I don't think that's it."

They're so fucking close. Oh my god. And Beca could just tilt her head up, like, ten degrees and they'd be kissing. Beca's so close. 

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and pushes her head into the cushion. 

"I'm not gay, Chloe," she mutters and her eyes drop down to Chloe's neck before her eyelids slam together and she twists her neck around. 

The warmth is replaced by cold air in a matter of seconds and it's like Chloe takes Beca's piece of shit heart with her when she pulls back so fast like she's being burned. Tears well up behind eyelids and Beca really wants the sofa to swallow her up and eat her whole. 

"No," Chloe whispers. Her voice wobbles weakly in the thick, stifling air. "Of course you're not."

-

 **Beca Mitchell:** Can we talk?

 **Beca Mitchell:**  I don't know what to do. 

 **Beca Mitchell:** I'm so confused. 

 **Beca Mitchell:**  Holy shit, I can't believe this is happening. 

 **Beca Mitchell:** Dude. 

 **Cynthia Rose:** sure girl chill out

-

It's actually easy to avoid your roommate. Especially when you've got an office to sleep in. 

They don't talk for two days and it's still going on. It's been over forty eight hours since Beca's last felt a thing besides anger (at who? Herself? Chloe?) and just a hollow feeling. 

Her door creaks open during her lunch for break on the third day. 

"Beca?" 

"Oh, Cynthia Rose, hi." Beca shoves her Subway wrappers into her overflowing bin and stops furiously rubbing at the stain on her shirt. "Uh, make yourself home. Sorry. I've been sort of living here, so it's messy. Um."

She sucks in a breath before letting it out in a heavy sigh. "So, yeah."

Cynthia Rose snorts and plops down on a swivel chair opposite Beca. "What's this about then, cap?" She pauses. "Are you and Chloe fighting?"

Wow. Is she that transparent? Holy hell. She's fucking mellowed so much since high school. Since first meeting Chloe. 

"I mean, ish? I don't know." Beca shrugs and sinks into her hoodie. 

Her friend sighs like Beca's a useless sack of potatoes, though she figures she kind of is useless. "Alright, spill."

And then Beca does. 

She starts with, "I'm not gay, really, but..." To which Cynthia Rose snorts at. She ends with, "Chloe's like, I don't know, the sun. The fucking light of my entire – okay. I'm maybe gay."

Cynthia Rose gives herself a second to process Beca's word vomit. 

"I thought you were bi," she finally says. 

Beca groans. "Why does  _everyone_  think I'm bi?"

"Uh," Cynthia Rose starts with mirth colouring her tone. "The German woman?"

Okay. That was not Beca's fault. Who the fuck sweats cinnamon scented sweat?  _God_. Alright, fair enough. The German lady was physically flawless, could you really blame Beca?

"But I'm not, I mean, I thought I wasn't," Beca says. "I don't know, dude. How am I supposed to know?" 

"You're not," Cynthia Rose states simply. 

Beca figures that makes sense. 

"I think you two should talk."

That makes sense too. Doesn't mean Beca's going to do it. If there's one thing she's good at, it's avoiding her problems. 

-

 **Aubrey Posen:** I own a shotgun. 

 **Beca Mitchell:** Jesus Christ.

-

The penthouse is dark when Beca creeps in. 

She wields her keys as a weapon as she peers into the hallway and pads in. 

If she's going to get murdered brutally in her own home, Chloe goddamn Beale is not invited to her funeral. 

"Uh, hello?" she calls down the hall. 

No sounds. 

Aubrey said the girl hadn't left their home, so she's sort is pissing her pants. 

Beca reaches her door and creaks it open gently. 

There's a thin sliver of light reaching through the curtains and cutting across her wooden floor. Everything's pretty much the same which she takes is a good sign that Chloe's not pissed enough to wreck her shit. 

But there's her favourite hoodie draped on the floor and her sheets are messed into a lump on her bed. 

She wrinkles her nose and steps in, dumping the keys and emptying her pockets into her desk. 

Hopefully, Chloe'll be back soon. Get the awkward tension out and over with. 

Beca peels her socks off, hopping to the edge of her bed and propping herself against the furniture as she goes. Once her outer layers are shed, she throws herself on the bed with a grunt.

Listen, whoever bought that sofa in her office probably can't tell the difference between comfortable and uneven bricks. 

Then, the blankets move and – what the actual fucking fuck?

"Beca?" 

She makes a sound of surprise from the back of her throat and her hands automatically move to yank the sheets away. 

Chloe slowly sits up and blinks groggily at Beca. "You're back." 

Beca nods slowly, stiff as a board as Chloe tediously sinks back down into her mattress. "Wha's the time?"

"Um, like, uh, five something," Beca mutters. 

Chloe hums an acknowledgement. 

Is she... sleeping? Wow. 

"So, you don't want to, I dunno, talk?" Beca whispers meekly. 

"Later."

"Oh."

Well. 

She glances over at Chloe who's snoring lightly and Beca's heart aches and tugs. 

Chloe's eyes are rimmed with red and her skin looks pasty against her navy sheets. Her fingers are clenched tightly against the bedding and she just looks so, so  _small_. 

Beca sighs gently. 

Her fingers reach out on their own accord and brush fiery red curls of hair away from Chloe's face and neck, pushing it up higher.

Chloe's face twitches closer to Beca's touch and she lets out a small whine. 

In a second, Chloe's arms shoot out, entrap Beca's body between them, and pulls them together. 

It's not that romantic actually. It smells like a weird mix of sweat, shampoo, and maybe pizza (which is definitely Beca's fault), but it's nice and familiar and comfortable. 

And Beca can't help it when she melts into Chloe's holds, her muscles relaxing and her eyes sliding shut. 

"I love you," Chloe whispers into Beca's ear, weak and quiet, dragged down by defeat and sleep. 

Beca takes the hand on her waist and pulls it to her lips.

"Yeah. We'll get through this," she mutters against the clammy hand. "Love you too."

Then, they sleep. 

Because they're both tired and because they're both so okay with just being together. 

It doesn't even have to have any implications; doesn't have to mean anything other than an innocent, platonic act of adoration and affection. 

It's just Beca and Chloe. 

-

 **The Bitch Squad:** Mitchell, have you seen the magazines?

 **The Bitch Squad:**  We need to set up a meeting. 

 **The Bitch Squad:** Are you or are you not in a relationship with Chloe? We're going to need you to answer ASAP. 

 **The Bitch Squad:** We could use this for both of your images. Think about it. Katie will be at your office tomorrow morning, 9:00 am sharp. 

-

"'The Bitch Squad's sent you lots of texts," is what she wakes up to. 

Beca rolls over and squints. "PR."

"Figured," Chloe says. 

She's sitting up on the bed, her hands play with the ends of Beca's hair and she looks a bit better – probably showered while Beca slept. 

Beca grunts and slings an arm over Chloe's legs. "Sleep."

Chloe inhales sharply. "You have a meeting with Katie from PR... two hours ago."

" _Sleep_ ," Beca huffs, eyes already squeezed shut and head under the covers. 

"No, Beca, we have to talk."

No evading then. She sighs, of course she's going to have to talk  _after_  she's slept off her courage. 

Chloe pokes the lump under the blanket where she guesses the head should be. 

Rude. 

Beca pushes the blankets off and swats at Chloe with a scowl. "Okay. What? I'm up."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yeah, sure, like she has a choice. "Um, sure, but only because you're only asking to make me think that I have a say in the matter." Beca props herself up on her elbows. "I don't... It's just that, like, I'm not great with words or feelings, so it's sort of hard for me to, to you know..."

By now she's mostly communicating through spastic gesticulating and scrunched up facial expressions. 

Chloe looks down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

Beca freezes. "I'm sorry too."

She's still frazzled by sleep and she's not  _ready_ , but she's trying and Chloe knows that, so she tangles her fingers with Beca's and they sit in silence, waiting for each other to clear their minds. To take a step back and breathe.

"I – I'm still figuring stuff out," Beca finally states. It's true. She is. 

She needs to figure out who she is, what she wants to do, right now, in the future. She's got the entire fucking world to tackle, but she doesn't need to figure out that she's sort of in love with her dumb ass roommate. 

"You'll tell me if you're sure of anything?" Chloe asks, because she's still Beca's friend and it doesn't even matter that she fell in a never ending abyss that is being in love with Beca Mitchell in her first senior year of college and still falling deeper in. "Anything. Tell me anything."

-

 **_To:_ ** _katiewalkerpr@residualheat.com_

 **_Cc/Bcc, From:_ ** _[beca.mitchell@residualheat.com](mailto:beca.mitchell@residualheat.com) _

**_Subject:_ ** _Reschedule_ _for 3:00 PM_

Click to open

-

Musical treasures dynamic duo, Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale, yeah, that sounds about right. 

But  _engaged_? Where the fuck did that even come from? 

Holy shit, these magazines are worse than that Perez Hilton stuff from that one year. 

Beca stares at the clippings. She's trying to make sense of it, but obviously, her attempts are futile. Like, actually where did these people get this shit?

Chloe did not buy her a puppy named Cups, thank you very much. She thinks she'd notice a dog wreaking havoc in her own house. 

(But it is something Chloe would do.) 

"So you're  _not_  dating Chloe?" Katie asks, again, for the third time. 

"Yeah, man. I'd know if I was smashing a hot redhead, don't you think?" Beca spits, "And yes, I'm sure I'm not dating her."

The PR lady doesn't even bother to hide her doubt. Presumptuous much.

"It's the twenty first century, if you guys start dating, it’d draw in a large LGBT+ audience and set a good example for younger kids." Katie pulls out a stapled stack of papers with statistics and crap that Beca usually just shoves under a pile that she throws away when she's especially motivated to clean her office – which isn't even that often anyway. "Chloe's already got herself thousands of followers since that tweet."

Oh my fucking _god_ , and Beca’s so sick of this.

So tired and just so frustrated.

This urge to pull her own hair out and kick walls, to raise all of fucking hell hasn't come in years. Hasn't appeared since her parents' divorce.

She's so sick of the PR team, sick of the magazines, sick of the paparazzi, and so fucking sick of _this._ Being fake.

“Fuck _off_.” She pushes a shout down and her fingers dig into her scalp. “Jesus Christ, dude. Just – goddammit – just let me live my own fucking life for one fucking day. Jesus _Christ_.”

Everything was building up. The thing with Chloe. Jesse. Aubrey. Her _self_. Hell, her _dad_. Everything.

She can’t breathe properly. It comes in as laboured breaths that scrape against her trachea and weigh down her lungs.

She shunts the headphones off her head and lurches to her feet, pushing her chair into the wall with the back of her knees.

Katie gapes at her. Eyes wide and eyebrows to the hairline and everything.

Beca pushes by, ignores the stares coming her way, and is down the streets in minutes. She’s not thinking, just moving, one goal in mind, frozen on it. Her feet move on her own.

Her heart thunders in her chest and her fists shake.

She really needs to calm down. Really.

But she _can’t._ She just can’t. And she’s so weary, so frustrated.

It takes her a minute to get the key in.

It took her a second to fall in love with Chloe Beale.

It took her a year to realize it.

She wrenches Chloe’s door open.

-

**Beca Mitchell Seen Storming the Streets of L.A.  
Is It a Lover’s Spat?**

-

Chloe returns the kiss almost instantly.

The anger, any negativity burrowed under Beca’s skin and bones, slinks down her body, through her feet, into the ground, and gone.

Chloe returns the love as fervently.

Maybe Beca’s thought about this. Maybe. She can think properly now, not like the movies where people are so struck by their significant other, but this is better.

She can think properly, her brain is alive, humming in her skull. Her heart is pumping, pushing blood through her vessels beneath her skin.

She processes what’s happening; open-minded and happy. Soft lips against her own. Strong arms around her waist. Warm body against warm body.

Every little sound that comes out of Chloe is recorded and remembered. (It does things, okay?)

Maybe Beca’s thought about this, but dreams are _nothing_ compared to the real thing. Actual skin against skin.

And, yeah, so Chloe _does_ do a thing with her, y’know, her tongue, and it’s sort of fucking great.

Warmth hugs her body, fills her chest, and her limbs.

Wow, okay, Chloe also does a thing with her lips.

Beca almost doesn’t pull away just to find out what else Chloe can do, but she does. She does, because Chloe can think too. Chloe has feelings too. 

And, “I’m sure of something, Chloe,” she murmurs against Chloe’s neck.

Her arms circle Chloe’s shoulders loosely and her body is molded against Chloe’s. It’s soft, tender.

“Yeah?” Chloe replies into her hair. “What is it?”

Beca’s lips brush against skin when she smiles, and when she chuckles, and when she says, “You.”

-

_In a relationship with **Chloe Beale**_

-

Life is good for Beca Mitchell, music producer.

Romantic dates during the sunset with her girlfriend, a second album in the works, and amusing friends.

(Both amusing and stupid.)

She’s still not 100% sure on some stuff.

Like skim milk or normal milk? What’s the difference to her? God, Chloe, just buy the cheaper one.

Like thanksgiving with Aubrey or her dad?

Like a sixth Titanium mix or a Chloe’s top ten pop songs of 2017 medley?

Like straight, gay, bisexual?

It doesn’t matter. It’s okay to not know.

Beca’s not gay.

Beca’s into Chloe and that’s all that matters.

Into Chloe’s laughter, bad puns, impromptu singing, tackle-hugs, cuddling, kiss. Into Chloe.

She’s happy to do what it takes to make Chloe happy. Hell, sometimes, she’s happy to do what it takes to make PR shut the fuck up.

She’s happy to keep on doing the laundry and drinking hot chocolate while watching _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ and cuddling Chloe on the sofa.

She’s happy with herself.

“Did you actually buy a puppy named _Cups_?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s at my mom’s house.”

“Oh my god.”

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry for the quality that fluctuates throughout this fic, i was rushing to finish it by today so...  
> anyway, heres my tumblr if you want it: edqarquintero  
> please, please, please point out anything thats shit about this fic! i am always looking to improve my writing, thank you!


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